


Shattered and Charred

by KatlynneLyons



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Charr is just having a bad time, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Torture, world ender creation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 04:09:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20736011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatlynneLyons/pseuds/KatlynneLyons
Summary: They’re staring at him and he’s giggling, high pitched sounds escaping his vocalizer against his will, and he’s curled around his legs hands grasping onto his shoulders, holding on to the only real thing they can; as the floor bucks underneath him energon spilling up from the ground, voices screaming in the back of his mind because- they can they hurt and screech and blame him and it’s all his fault they hate him and maybe he does too- they’re staring at him; horrified and shocked silent and he can’t stop laughing.





	Shattered and Charred

The door slides open and there are familiar faces staring at him; shock, hope and horror flickering faster than his dulled processor can fully grasp, and he knows this, knows how any second their words will twist, and he’ll feel their weapons lancing his hide, how it’ll all be fake but too real, and he’s terrified. Terrified and angry and just so goddamn tired of it all.  


They’re staring at him and he’s giggling, high pitched sounds escaping his vocalizer against his will, and he’s curled around his legs hands grasping onto his shoulders, holding on to the only real thing they can; as the floor bucks underneath him energon spilling up from the ground, voices screaming in the back of his mind because-  _ they can they hurt and screech and blame him and it’s all his fault they hate him and maybe he does too-  _ they’re staring at him; horrified and shocked silent and he  _ can’t  _ ** _stop laughing._ **

In a blink they’re gone, and he’s alone. Well almost. Voices sickly sweet whisper threats to him as blades and guns leave their mark. He just leans backs and laughs, telling jokes to the cruel hands, till his breath comes out is short sobs, and the voices are fading, fading,  _ so sad to see them go _ \- and he was alone again, rocking in the corner, servos wrapped around himself to ground himself to this reality. 

Just as he is settling back down, the door opens again, and a familiar red femme walks in; optics guarded as she glances at him. She keeps close to the door, bright blue optics watching how his chest still heaves a little as breathless giggles start up again. 

She straightens her back and he recoils slightly, gazing at her with tired optics; occasionally glancing around the room to make sure none of the spider things were back to bite him while he was distracted. His days always got worse when he felt them nip at his tender neck cables. 

“Do you know who you are?” she asked carefully, voice tight, body stiff; optics staring at him with emotions he couldn’t pinpoint. But there was a question…

“That’s different” he mumbles to himself, digging his fingertips into his shoulders, glancing at the moving shadows that were sneaking up on him, “They know that normally. They say it often enough. Or maybe they’re being metaphorical this time or some slag. ‘Who are you inside or something’ Maybe they don’t know that I don’t. I don’t. I don’t. They know I don’t know” he rambles quietly, rocking as his hands shake. His voice is barely audible and it isn’t long until his rambling loses any form of coherence and random syllables start dripping from his vocalizer just to fill the  _ space.  _

“What is your name” she snaps, voice a little too loud, and he flinches back from her, -  _ their voices snapping, angry, accusing, as his spark is torn apart piece by piece _ \- and her face lights up red for an instant before the moment is gone, and she is farther away, body stiffened in a stance that looks so familiar-  _ Where?. _

Yet another question, or was it the same one? He stares towards her, as his mind drifts along his unused pathways of his mind. It takes him longer than it should, but finally he wheezes out a quiet “Chaarbuster.” in her general direction, head bobbing that yes, that is what they called him. 

She relaxes slightly, but still keeps her optics on him. A silence fills the air before she speaks again, “Who am I?”

There's a name on his glossa; fiery and compassionate, but he can’t quite reach it and give it to her. Besides he’s fairly certain that the answer his processor wants to give him is all forms of wrong. The bots in his head didn’t have names; it hurt less that way when they turned on him. In his musing he made her wait for a response, so he whispered a truthful “I don’t know,” hoping that that would placate her… Or just make this over quicker. 

Hands shaking,opening closing. He looks back up and she’s still staring. Not doing... anything. Just watching him with those wary optics. “Why..” his voice is scratchy from disuse, “Why haven't you shot me yet?” That had always been her preferred action next. 

She didn’t move, but stiffened, the corners of sharp lines pulsing and blurring-

“No one’s gonna hurt you. At least not anymore.” Her optics were pulsing-maybe, he couldn’t be sure- flickering between bright cyan and indigo-no, had to be his mind. Optics couldn’t pulse like that-. Just like claws couldn’t crawl from the floor and rip into his pedes. Or optics couldn’t tear their way out of his paint to stare. 

But she had spoken. Her words were- Confusing? That wasn’t his reality. His reality was snarling and pain, trust shattered, as they broke him again again again  **again. ** His hands are shaking again, and he’s staring at her, pink light flickering on her face - _ Why is that happening?-  _ He coughs out a laugh, sounding too much like a sob, and moans “I’ve heard that before. So many times...” S _ o many so many, not real, too real, what was the difference anymore.  _

She nearly backs away from him. A half muted noise echoes from beyond the walls of his realm. It sounds like a strangled cry of pain. It forces her forward. The cranberry and dark orange femme slumps her shoulders, the pink still there, now seeming to turn from blue to red in rapid succession.  _ Stop it, stop it, not real not real _ . “I’m asking a lot, I know, but i need you to trust me.” She extends a hand, buckling her knees to be on his level. One foot turns back towards the door, while her right hand catches a beam of pink light as fingers twirl and twitch.

He is slow to react, staring down to her hand, pink light dancing back at him, and looks back up, light now sparkling across her face. His face twists for a second and he draws back  _ Trap. It's a trap. It has to be. Nothing safe, leave leave leave.  _ His venting is fast, too fast, ripping from his throat in sharp whistles. But all she does is watch him, fingers dancing just within reach. It’s so inviting, and for a second he is reaching for her on instinct; hand brushing against her- and he jerks back  _ touch too real- too real- why is she so real?  _ And his venting is only speeding up, he can’t breath, he can’t breath-  _ cords are tied around his neck and laughing hands rip into his seams.  
_

His helm is ducked into his legs, frame trembling, vents slower. And she is still watching, shifted farther away but not gone. He pants, and stares back, half of him screaming to just stay, the other begging for him to reach out again. He glances back up to her face, down to her hand still outstretched and he breathes in a whisper, “You... You promise you’ll make everything stop?”  


The fingers recoil for only the faintest of moments, a slight hitch in her vents. “I can make damn sure. You’re gonna feel a lot better, but you need to take my hand, ok?” Her words are soft, gentle, with something else. Was that pain?  


“Ok” he breathes back, optics flickering back and forth from her face and hand. It takes all his effort to reach his closer hand out to hers; it’s shaking from the fear boiling in his chest-  _ screaming, don’t be an idiot, she’ll destroy you like all the rest, just give her a reason so it won’t hurt, won’t hurt as much-  _ and his hand finally meets hers, large and shaking, optics clamped shut, frame tense as he waits for something to happen. For her to - _ claw him into little shreds, laugh at his stupidity, oh Primus what was he doing-  _

-do something. 

“Ok.” She breathes faintly. Her voice is calm, and despite what little he can recall from her, her voice washes over him like cool water. Calm, fluid. “That’s very good Chaar.” She starts. It causes him to open his optics and he’s met with bright blue. Yet he sees it muddle with pink, resulting in a purple glow across cheek struts. Her optics rove over him slowly, taking care not to stay in one place for too long. “We’re just gonna take a few steps at a time, and we’re gonna walk out of here together. At your pace, whenever you feel ready. It’s all safe, I promise.”

He shrinks back, optics in pinpricks as he stares up at her.  _ Walk out? You can’t walk out?  _ He coughs again, optics lazing around his room, stopping briefly on his world, his whole world before landing back on her. He frowns, licking his lips, free hand twitching a mindless pattern along his chest and mutters, “How? We can’t leave. We tried that last time remember? You... can.. You’re not real so you can. I can’t. Not unless  _ they....  _ “ he swallows. “Not unless they come get me.”  


Something so fast flashes across her face he can’t see it. For a nano second his mind saw only a flash of crimson, before he found himself looking into calm blue optics. “I’m not they, yes. But I am very real. And they are gone.” her voice dropped to a low murmur. “They aren’t going to come back.” She took a few steps back, now standing just outside of the cell door. Her hand reached out back to him, wrist inside the cell. “If you’re not sure, it’s ok. But if you really wanna be sure, all you have do is try.” She smiled, her face flickering for a moment, she suddenly looked older.  _ Tired.  _ “It’s safe. You can do it.” _   
_

He is venting too fast again, but this time he tries to gulp the air down, rocking on his pedes, arms wrapped around himself. She... she was... real. That thought nearly drowned out the others, screaming at him to hide his face behind his hands and let the world fade away again. But he was stuck, optics wide, staring at the hand which beckoned him close.  _ He could do it. She thinks I can do it.  
_

He staggers upwards, nearly losing his balance as his head swims and the world tilts around him. The world comes back into focus and he's leaning against a wall, panting harsh vents, as his hands scrabble at something to hold unto; keep him here, keep him attached to some form of reality. There's nothing to grasp, so he just ends up wrapping his arms around himself in a desperate form of a self-hug. She’s watching him, blue optics calm and supportive of his movement. She believes in him.

He takes a step and then another, he’s towering over her, but his chest still twists with anxious preparation for it all to go wrong, - _ for her to decide he wasn’t worth keeping around, to slash and tear and  _ ** _hurt_ ** _ \-  _ but he takes another, and he reaches out, gripping her hand in his, and he is shaking; armor rattling in his terror, but he holds her hand and breathes out “Ok.” A mantra screaming in his head - _ it’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok, she said it’d be fine- _

“Good.” She smiles. Her optic ridges gently lifting up. She’s not in the least scared of his height. Gentle pressure wraps around his fingers as dark red plating curls snugly, protectively, into a hold. “Alright, a few steps. You’re doing so well. Ready?”

He swallows harshly, optics glued to her face, pink light reflecting back at him, flickering deeper reds, and brighter blue. He’s choking back rambling in the back of his head, trying to keep back his terror.  _ You can’t leave, they’ll be so mad, so mad, so mad. It  _ ** _hurt _ ** _ the last time, but she said. She said it’d be ok this time. That he was doing well, and he’d be... safe.  _ He’s choking out another small “ok,” helm bobbing up and down, hoping she can’t see the terror bubbling under the surface. “Ok..” he says again with a little more strength.  


She nods. “Good.” And slowly, she pulls, beginning to lead his arm and then his body. “Anchor on me if you need. Just focus on my voice, i can talk as little or as much as you need.” The cell wall dragged on for eternity and then he was... past it...

There was so much space, his optics were drowning it it; he was small, and he shrunk back, as his optics darted, looking for a space to hide, to cram himself into so they couldn’t touch his spark. His hands are shaking, but he keeps it on her.

“Chaar?” a voice came out thin and trembling, and his head snapped to the side, and he is shaking, shattering himself apart just staring at the two bots before him; far more hesitant than they had any right to be. The brown ones arm is wrapped around the blue one, and while they are still so much taller than the red femme, the still look so small - _ When did that happen?-  _ pain filling their optics, as the blue femme reaches out, and he flinches back remembering burns, and broken struts. She sees, and the look they give him is spark-shatteringly broken. It’s so different that it makes him pause in his retreat. He glances back at the red femme and she is still calm; real. Calm and so real.  


He turns back and he whispers “Creator? Sire?” voice choking with fear that this was fake, that he’d finally lost it and it was going to turn in on him and- they smile together. It’s weak and nothing compared to what he remembers, but it’s them. It’s so familiar that he can’t speak, his vocalizer closing up only letting out choked little gasps. His optics are filling up and he can’t see them, but he feels how they go to either side whispering and chanting their love, and comfort, promising that he was safe, that it was over, that he’d be ok.  


He lets go of the red femme as he finally wails; a long sound of grief and fear, clutching the familiar forms, leaning on them and sobbing, out his fear, begging them to be real, begging it all to be real in his broken tired voice, feeling their hands stroke his helm and wipe at his tears; just praying to Primus that if this was fake, let it never end. If he had finally lost the grips of sanity- let him never awaken back to his prison in Tarn’s clutches- let him dream forevermore- 

Please. Primus please.

**Author's Note:**

> A brief look into the mind of one of my OC's during a mental breakdown- reality isn't reliable. Nor will it ever be.


End file.
